Berlin Not Long Ago
by Gale Force
Summary: Sequel to Every Steed Needs A Knight. Emma meets Max Prendergast for the first time


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Berlin, Not Long Ago

or: Every Knight Needs A Steed

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Chapter I

The Templehof Airport in Gatow, British Sector, Berlin, was extremely small and crowded, and getting through it was time-consuming at the best of times, but Emma Peel liked airports and had worn comfortable shoes. As she waited in queues, first for her luggage and then for officials to check her passport, she quite frankly people-watched.

''And why have you come to Berlin, Mrs. Peel?'' asked the official thumbing through her passport. 

''I want to see Duke Ellington,'' she informed him cheerfully.

''I beg your pardon?''

'The American jazz musician and his orchestra is having a series of concerts here. In Berlin, that is to say. American sector. It will be a historic performance.''

The official nodded. ''I see,'' he said, though Emma was willing to wager that he didn't. He gestured at her suitcase and she opened it for him. Prominent on top was a large black metallic item in the shape of an upside down heart. He looked at this with one raised eyebrow. But there was no one so used to British eccentricity as British officials. He merely gestured her to close her suitcase, stamped her passport with a flourish and handed it back to her. ''Enjoy your stay.''

''Thank you. I'm sure I shall.''

Templehof Airport had a small cafe, and although Emma wasn't particularly hungry one must always sample the cuisine at airports. It was part of the travel experience. She ordered a wiener schnitzel and it was surprisingly good.

Outside the airport, Emma flagged down a taxi. ''Hotel Britannia, please.'' she told the driver. He nodded cheerily, popped out of his cab to stow her suitcase away in the boot, and then drove her there with efficiency. This was Emma's first time in Berlin but she had studied a map of the various places she wanted to go, and she knew he was taking the most efficient route. She tipped him properly, then followed the doorman who carried her suitcase into the Hotel Britannia.

As she walked up to reception, Emma passed a placard prominently displayed: International Bridge Tournament Weekend.

This was yet another reason why Emma had come to Berlin - to play in the bridge tournament.

''Mrs. Peel!'' the hotel clerk beamed at her. ''Welcome to the Hotel Britannia! I trust you had a good flight. Your suite is ready for you - Aachen here will show you up. (Aachen was a short, smiling bellboy who appeared like a genie out of the lamp when the clerk touched a bell). There will be a reception tonight for our bridge players, 1800 hours. It is to be a costumed reception.''

Emma smiled at him. ''Thank you.''

Once in her hotel room, Emma took a long, refreshing shower. Much as she liked planes and airports, she didn't care for the way the distinctive aroma of them permeated her clothing. She changed into yet another comfortable outfit, and laid out her costume for that evening. All of the bridge players were supposed to come as their favorite playing card. Emma's costume was that of the Queen of Spades.

Without any further delay, Emma went out into the city. She did not hail a cab, but began to walk down the streets.

Her third reason for coming to Berlin was something of a pilgrimage. Her husband, Peter Peel, had been just too young to serve during World War II, but had joined the RAF and flown cargo into West Berlin during the Berlin Airlift of 1949. He had loved the city, and spent several years there, before returning to London to become a test pilot, and where the two of them had met.

He'd talked often of his days in Berlin, and promised that he would take her to see the city, with its four sectors - Russian, English, American and French, and all the complications and red tape that that entailed.

''I've always been fascinated by the city,'' she had told him. ''One city, an island of Western ideals in the midst of communism, surrounded by a high wall erected by a government to keep its people imprisoned. If that's not a damning portrait of communism I don't know what is!''

She smiled now, as she thought of that long ago conversation. A wave of melancholia rushed over her, very briefly, and receded. She had done her grieving. Anyone married to a test-pilot knows that the end may come at anytime. They had lived their lives together to the fullest, and while she would still get a pang, when she saw something or felt something that she'd like to share with him and would never be able to, the sadness welled up.

****

Chapter II

That evening, Emma was at her radiant best, wearing a clinging outfit in blue which showed off her curves and her tan. The Britannia's ballroom was full of people dressed as playing cards. They were all bridge experts, and Emma knew most of them. 

The costumes were many and varied. Some wore costumes almost like sandwich board, with cards painted on either side. Must be incredibly uncomfortable to dance in costumes like that, Emma mused. Others wore skin tight outfits representing the characters on the playing cards. Emma's costume was one of these. She wore a gown of black and white, and carried a long spear, the top of which was in the shape of a spade.

As Emma circled about the room, meeting old friends and having a brief chat with each, she noticed that there were several people gathered in one corner of the room. Curious, she drifted over. They were all spectators, in a semi-circle around a man seated on a chair. In his left hand he held a pair of scissor, in his right a piece of heavy black construction paper. In front of him was a young woman, standing self-consciously still. As Emma watched the man in the chair, dressed in a black tuxedo, but with a crown on his head, worked his long, sharp scissors around the paper quickly and expertly and soon had produced an expert silhouette of her features. He handed it to her with a flourish. The crowd applauded politely.

The man looked up, and his brilliant blue eyes caught Emma's. He was not handsome, in the conventional sense, his nose being rather too large, but he exuded vitality and charm.

''You, he said, in a German accent, pointing the scissors at Mrs. Peel. ''Please, you must allow me to do a silhouette of you.''

Emma smiled, flattered, and moved into the forefront of the circle of admirers. The silhouette artist stared at her face very intently for a few seconds, then quickly went to work on the paper in his hand, and there was silent but for the snick, snick, snick of the scissors cutting through paper. At last he held out the silhouette. He had caught her hairstyle, the tilt of her nose, one could even imagine he'd caught the curve of a smile in her cheek.

''It's lovely,'' she told him, applauding him. He rose and deposited scissors and paper on his chair. ''My name is Prendergast,'' he told her. ''Max Prendergast.''

''My name is Emma Peel. _Mrs_. Emma Peel.''

''Emma. What a beautiful name.'' He took her arm with easy European familiarity - the arm that wasn't carrying her sceptre, and they walked around the room.

''Have you ever been to Berlin before, Emma?'' he asked. ''If not you must allow me to escort you. I know all the best sights. All the best sounds.''

''That's very kind of you, Mr. Prendergast. I wouldn't wish to take you away from any pressing business.''

''Don't be silly, Emma. Nothing could be more pressing than escorting a beautiful woman around the most beautiful city in the world.''

''You regard Berlin as beautiful?'' said Emma thoughtfully.

''Well, I am prejudiced, perhaps. It is my home city, after all. Much progress has been made since the war....''

''Oh, I didn't mean that,'' Emma said quickly. ''I meant only, to me, for one reason or another Berlin has become the most exciting city in Europe. Certainly the most dangerous.''

''Dangerous?'' Max Prendergast smiled. ''You are right, there. I could tell you stories...''

Before he could say another word however, there was a commotion in front of them, as a man burst into the room. He was not dressed in costume but instead wore shabby clothing...and carried a gun.''

''Prendergast!'' He yelled, and then continued in German, ''I know you're here, you pig, you Judas! Show yourself!''

His eyes lit upon the man at Emma's side, but before he had a chance to bring his pistol around, Emma picked up her sceptre and hurled it like a javelin. The weight of the metal was not such that it could penetrate him, but it caused him to lose his grip on his gun. Emma took three long strides forward, and gave him a kick in the jaw. He settled into a heap onto the polished marble floor.

''My dear,'' said Prendergast, ''how marvelous of you! The poor man was deranged. Waving a gun around at people like that! Could you understand what he said?''

Emma smiled at him. ''I don't speak German,'' she told him. Prendergast's face relaxed slightly. It was a half-truth. Emma understood several languages, but she rarely spoke in any of them. In her business at Knight Industries it was important to know what people were thinking, and they were so much more revealing when they were speaking in their own language.

The unconscious man was dragged away without any ceremony by a couple of bellhops, and the party resumed its festive nature. Not another word was said about it, although Mrs. Peel received a few 'good shows' as people in the crowd passed by.

Emma was thoughtful. ''Judas,'' she thought to herself. Somehow the charming Mr. Prendergast had acquired that sobriquet. She wondered how.

****

Chapter III

The next morning Emma Peel met with a couple of RAF officials, who knew her because of her husband, Peter Peel. She received tours of various facilities, and had tea with the commander of the airbase.

One of the officers walked her out the gate and flagged down a taxi. ''Back to your hotel?'' he asked Mrs. Peel.

''Yes, please.'' 

Emma got into the taxi and the driver started up and pulled away. It was only then that she noticed the driver wore a bowler hat. There was no question of it being Peter Peel - for some reason Emma knew immediately that it was John Steed.

''Steed,'' she said coldly.

''Mrs. Peel.''

''I must learn to select my taxi drivers more carefully.''

''That would certainly be the case in Berlin,'' Steed agreed. ''However, you must listen to me. I learned of what happened last night.''

''Many things happened last night.''

''At the costume party,'' Steed said, impatient of her whimsicalness. ''A man tried to kill Max Prendergast. You stopped him. That was a mistake.''

''You expected me to just stand by and watch a defenseless man get shot?''

Steed pulled the taxi over to the side of the road and turned to face her. ''Mrs. Peel, have you ever seen a movie called _The Third Man_?''

''1949. Orson Welles as Harry Lime. Joseph Cotten. Post-war Vienna. Yes, what about it?''

''Well, substitute a snake for Orson Welles, and Berlin for Vienna, and you've got Max Prendergast.''

A sense of foreboding rose up in Emma's breast. But she said, ''Are you sure? You were wrong about me, remember, not so long ago.''

''I can't give you a sheaf of documentary proof, because Prendergast has covered his tracks too well for that. But that man you knocked unconscious - we have him now, and he's being interrogated. If he can give us the proof we need...''

''This is Berlin, 1965!'' Emma said. ''Surely you can pick up Prendergast on suspicion?''

''It may be Berlin, but this is the British sector,'' Steed said reprovingly. ''Besides, Prendergast has friends in many places. But we're getting close to him now.''

''Why are you telling me all this?''

''From all reports, Prendergast was quite smitten with you, Mrs. Peel. And you didn't seem to be...unattracted.''

'So?'' said Emma Peel very coldly. Her eyebrows raised at him dangerously. 

Steed gestured. ''I just wanted you to know what he was, that's all.''

''Well, thank you for telling me, Steed. But it was a needless precaution. I'm going to a Duke Ellington concert tonight. Alone.''

''Wouldn't you like to help put Prendergast behind bars?

She stared at him curiously. ''Are you seconding me for police action?''

''Not police action. Not even action for king and country. But action for...the right. God save the right, as the knights of old used to say.''

****

Chapter IV

Emma sat sipping tea in her hotel room, and munching on shortbread. She had turned on the tv and was listening to programs in German, but her mind was far away.

Although her step-mother had taught her martial arts, Emma had never actually used her skills until just recently. And the feeling of exhilaration she had felt, in using those skills to successfully subdue a villain - she had never felt anything quite like it. Well...had she? Her first solo in her own small plane. Her first hang-gliding off the Cotswolds. All those events had made her feel very alive and so did these small triumphs. Adventurer, Mrs. Peel thought. The love of adventure. The same love that had got her husband killed while in the prime of his life. Mrs. Peel smiled. The same love that had caused him to live every minute to the full.

The phone rang, disturbing her reverie. She picked up the phone to hear Steed's voice. ''Mrs. Peel, this is urgent. I'm having a delay getting the appropriate warrants. Prendergast has a reservation on a plane that leaves in an hour. You've got to delay him for me. If he gets on that plane, we'll lose him.''

Emma, conscious of the tone of urgent desperation in Steed's voice, didn't argue. Just, ''Delay him? How?''

''Use your feminine wiles or something. Please!''

''Alright, Steed. He'll be in my room when you're ready to get him.''

''Good. Thank you.'' said Steed, and he hung up the receiver.

Emma took one glance around her suite. The bed looked very inviting. She grabbed up a handful of magazines and a couple of plush toys she had purchased and strewed them on the bed to make it less so. As she strode out of her room she picked up a bottle of champagne.

She rapped on Max Prendergast's door. A cheerful little rap.

He opened it with a jerk. He wore a tuxedo, but his tie was undone and his normally impeccably coiffed hair was the tiniest bit mussed. ''Emma,'' he said in delight. ''''How nice to see you! Please come in. I am busy packing, as you see.''

She entered his room. ''Leaving so soon?'' she said, striving hard to act natural, casual. ''The tournament isn't over yet.''

''Yes. Unfortunately business calls me away. Unexpected business. I must catch a plane tonight.''

''Why, that's too bad,'' Emma commiserated. ''And here I am with a full bottle of champagne and no one to share it with.'' She displayed it to him.

Prendergast froze as if electrified. His eyes looked at her face avidly. ''My dear Emma, what an unexpected invitation.''

''But a pleasant one, I hope.''

Prendergast closed the lid of his suitcase. ''Oh, yes.''

''Well, then. You've such a clutter here. Why not come to my room? We can enjoy a glass or two before you leave.''

Prendergast looked at his watch, and teetered on his feet like a man on the edge of an abyss. ''Very well, my dear. Just a glass. A quick glass.'' He glanced at his suitcase. ''I will just take my suitcase with me, if you don't mind, and leave directly from your room.''

''Lovely.''

They walked back to Emma's suite. Emma gave him the bottle. ''If you will do the honors?''

Prendergast hurried to the sideboard on which stood the glasses, while Emma turned on the little radio that came with the hotel. The song, ''Meine liebling, meine rose'' started to play.

''A love song,'' Prendergast commented. 

''Really? So difficult to tell, in German. It's such a ...brutal language.''

''Oh, surely not,'' Prendergast said, handing her a glass of champagne and looking at her intensely. ''The language of Goethe, of Mozart...and this song they are playing...it's a very popular one right now. All the little German boys are singing it to their sweethearts.''

He looked at Emma with such an expression of love on his face that she simply couldn't stand it any longer. ''Feminine wiles, indeed,'' she said below her breath, and without warning, without hesitation, she punched him on the precise point of his jaw, a blow calculated to leave him unconscious for at least thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes was just long enough. Prendergast stirred feebly as a knocking came. Emma opened the door to Steed and two police officers. Emma was not sure if she was amused or angered by the shock on Steed's face. Had he really thought that she'd occupy Predergast in her bed until he got around to showing up?

Without ceremony one of the police officers lugged Prendergast to his feet, brought his hands behind his back and snapped on cold steel handcuffs. Prendergast gazed around wildly, at the police officers, at Steed, lastly at her. She saw the naked look of shock and anguish on Prendergast's face as he realized what she'd done, but his emotion bothered her not all. So must all of his victims looked and felt, when they took that much anticipated step into what they thought would be freedom, only to find that the man they had trusted had betrayed them.

The police officers led Prendergast to the door. He passed quite close to Steed and Emma and came to a stop. ''Look behind you,'' he purred, his eyes on Steed. They shifted to Emma. ''Often. One day I will be there.''

The police officer tightened his grip and Prendergast was led away.

''What a thoroughly unpleasant character,'' Steed commented. 

''Thoroughly,'' said Emma. She glanced at her watch. ''He's made me late for that Duke Ellington concert.''

''I have a car waiting downstairs.''

As they were driven by chauffer to the American sector Steed said, ''You've done the free world a service, Mrs. Peel. Prendergast will be going away for a long time. In fact I doubt if they will ever let him out.''

''Too bad he couldn't have been caught years ago, before he had time to do so much damage, hurt so many people.''

''Yes, but the important thing is he was caught in the end. Thanks to you,'' said Steed. He glanced at her. ''You enjoyed it, didn't you?''

Emma looked at him, and didn't pretend not to know what he was talking about. But she asked a question that may have appeared as a non sequitur. ''When you arrived with the police, you seemed a little surprised to see Prendergast out on the floor, and not ...elsewhere.''

''Not at all!'' Steed said indignantly. ''It was simply that that was such a straightforward thing for you to have done. It reminded me of a friend of mine. I had expected you to take a rather more subtle approach - I thought I'd find the two of you playing a game of chess or gin rummy or something.''

''I see,'' said Emma. She looked out thoughtfully into the darkness. ''If he had just been....lusting after me...I suppose I would have played it out that way. Teased him. Toyed with him. But ...I think he truly loved me. I couldn't stand it. I had to knock him out.''

''I see,'' said John Steed. ''I shall bear that in mind for future reference, Mrs. Peel.''

''You would do well to do so,'' commented Emma with a grin.

''But that of course means there will _be _a future,'' said Steed. ''And actually, I got word tonight...''

Emma Peel held up her hand. ''Not tonight, thank you, Steed. I have a date with a Duke.''


End file.
